Tarnished
by Lilbit903
Summary: What if the Golden Trio weren't so golden? What if they were more tarnished? What if they were sorted into Slytherin, where dwell the cunning and the ambitious? How would they fare? Would they come out polished? Or ruined forever. Dark!Trio
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. Every recognizable character and place belong to the property of J.K Rowling, Warner Brothers, and Scholastic. I am not making any money off of this work.**

 **Warnings/ Triggers: ALL OF THEM. Sex, drug use, alcohol use, torture, gore, blood magic, underage sex, mentions of non-con/dub-con, murder, bullying, pretty much anything you can think of is going to be in here. If you cannot handle this, then please do not read this story. If however, you're just as demented as me, you should enjoy it very much.**

 **This story came to life after seeing a post in The Death Eater Express on Facebook asking a What-if about the Trio being in Slytherin. This story developed from it. Hope you enjoy.**

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 _"And the Forgotten will Reign. The Broken will Heal. The Chosen will Choose."_

Ronald Weasley often felt forgotten. The youngest of his brothers, but not the youngest child. No, that position was taken by his sister Ginevra. The daughter his parents had always wanted. The reason that his family was so poor. After all, if they had stopped having children after Bill, or Charlie, or Percy, or the twins or even him they would have been better off. But it wasn't to be. While Ginny got new robes and toys and books, he was stuck with hand-me-downs from his brothers. Clothes that barely fit, either too big or too small. Toys that were broken, and abused from years of wear and tear. Books that were missing pages or falling apart. He got the worst of everything, while his darling little sister got the best of what his parents could afford.

That wasn't the worst of his lot. No, as the youngest son, he didn't have a chance of being noticed. Not with Bill being Head Boy, and Charlie being a Quidditch star, Percy with his book smarts, and the twins with their pranks. All of the niches were filled. There was no place for ickle Ronnekins. He was expected to live up to the roles of his brothers, but why should he? Why should he go to Hogwarts and become a Gryffindor, just because every Weasley that ever went was? Why should he have to give up more of himself trying to fill shoes that could never be filled? It wasn't fair, or right. And dammit all, he wanted more! More than to be just another Weasley. More than the forgotten youngest son, more than to be overlooked simply because he didn't seem important to anyone else. Staring at the evening sky, the night before he and his family would go supply shopping for Hogwarts, Ron knew that he was on the precipice of a choice. One that would change his life forever.

The following day, he held onto his father's hand as he apparated them to Diagon Alley. It made his stomach twist and turn, the feeling of being squeezed through a too tight tube enough to make him want to vomit. Of course, he would never say as much. Not in front of his parents and especially not in front of his brother's lest they use it against him. It was strange to him, how supposedly brave and chivalrous men and women were so cowardly to turn on their own family. Their own blood. Perhaps that's what the other purebloods really meant when they called them Blood Traitors. Funny thing that. How much blood really meant in the wizarding world as a whole, and just how little it meant to his family.

His mother had already swept away with Ginny, no doubt to spoil her some more, while his brothers had scattered. His father placed a hand on his shoulder, "Let's go get you a wand, son." Arthur said, leading him towards Ollivanders. Ron felt an instant rush of happiness. His own wand. His. Something that only he would own, that wouldn't be passed down from his brothers. He had worried that he might have gotten stuck with an old family wand, but instead, he was getting his very own. The bell above the door chimed as they entered the dusty old shop and Mr. Ollivander appeared behind the counter.

"Ah, hello Arthur. Holly with a core of unicorn hair nine and a half inches, rather flexible. And this must be your youngest boy, Ronald." Mr. Ollivander greeted them, peering over the counter to stare at him. Ron shifted uncomfortably, although he was slightly pleased that the wandmaker knew his name, he was still unused to such intense attention.

"Well then, let's get you sorted lad," Ollivander said, before beginning to take stock of Ron. "Arms out. Right or left handed?" Ron waved his right hand. "Good, good. Now to take some measurements." Ollivander muttered while a tape measure began taking measurements of his arms. From fingertip to fingertip across his chest, from the tip of his right middle finger to his wrist and finally from his wrist to his elbow. Ollivander hummed and turned to the back of his store, where boxes upon boxes of wands were piled up precariously. Ron wondered how they all managed to stay up, even with magic.

"Try this one. Poplar, unicorn hair, ten and a quarter inches. Nice and rigid." Ollivander said, placing the wand before Ron. Ron grasped it lightly only to hiss and drop it when it sent out red sparks that stung. "Not that one," Ollivander tutted taking the wand back gingerly with brows raised. Over and over Ron tried out varieties of different wands. None of them seemed to fit correctly. They were either too explosive or too unresponsive. Just as Ron was about to give up, Ollivander pulled out a peculiar looking box.

It was ornately decorated, pure black with silver veins running through it. It was topped with glittering rubies, and Ron felt a yearning to grab the wand and run with it. He controlled himself but still eyed the box covetously. He could feel the power rolling off the box in waves, calling to him, begging him to take it and be its true master.

Before Ollivander could hand over the wand inside though, Arthur spoke up, "Mr. Ollivander, we couldn't possibly afford such a luxurious wand. Are you sure there aren't any others?" In that moment, Ron felt a fury bubble up inside him. A fury directed towards his father. How dare he! This was his wand, his, and he wanted to deny him it. Before Ron could open his mouth to object Mr. Ollivander batted his hand at Arthur, "Nonsense. The wand chooses the wizard, Arthur. If this wand chooses your boy, then he will pay the same price as any other wand in my shop. A true wandmaker knows better than to keep a wand from its wizard."

Ollivander handed over the box carefully, "Go on lad. Try this one. Ebony, with a Phoenix feather core. Twelve and three-quarter inches, rigid flexibility."

Ron gazed upon the box lovingly, he could feel the magic in his veins humming with anticipation. Lifting the lid carefully he grasped the wand in his hand and let out an excited laugh as the magic swirled around the room, lifting his hair and shooting off silver sparks. Ollivander looked on curiously, strange that one of the first wands his family had ever crafted, found its home in one so young. This young lad was destined for great things, and he could only hope they would be wonderful as well.

Harry Potter hated Number 4 Privet Drive with a passion. He hated everything about it, from his Aunt Petunia's ridiculous chinaware that no one could touch, much less eat off of, to his Uncle Vernon's obscene snoring that could be heard all the way under the stairs. But he especially hated his cousin Dudley. He was loud, lazy, fat and slovenly. Not to mention spoiled beyond belief. While Harry was lucky if his birthday was even remembered with a piece of tissue paper, Dudley was lavished in gifts. Heaven forbids if one was missing, or if there weren't as many as the year before, then the entire neighborhood could hear his tantrums. Harry himself was reduced to wearing his cousin's too large hand me downs, and once Dudley had caught on, he made it his mission to destroy them to the best of his ability knowing Harry would still have to wear them. Of course neither his Aunt or Uncle ever punished the brat, choosing instead to give into his whims; all for the sake of appearing normal. That was the entirety of their life. Look normal, act normal, be normal.

Normal. What a boring awful thing to be. He wanted to be extraordinary. He wanted to be able to look at those who had bullied him all his life and spit in their faces for ever believing themselves to be better than him. For punishing him for things he couldn't explain, such as growing his hair back right after his Aunt had cut it. Or finding himself on the roof of his school when Dudley and his gang of bullies chased him with threats of pounding him to death. Or even when his Uncle had caught him talking to a small garden snake. His face had turned puce with rage, and he'd grabbed the poor thing and crushed it within his beefy fist before slinging it to the ground to stomp on. After that incident Harry had been regulated to his cupboard for a week, only allowed out to use the restroom and scarf down some bread and water. Then he would be unceremoniously shoved back into the dim space and told to think about what he's done.

But the truth was he didn't understand what he'd done, or how or even why. Some things just happened, and he very rarely had any control over them when they did. So when the first letter addressed to him came, and his Uncle tore it up in front of him, he was angry. When twenty more after that arrived, and his uncle burned them he was livid. And when his Uncle moved them all to this terrible little Island just to avoid the mysterious owls delivering them, he was beyond furious. As he lay on the hard dirt of the awful shack, he felt his anger mount higher and higher. How dare they do this to him! It wasn't his fault he was different. He shouldn't be treated like pond scum because of it. In fact, he should be treated like royalty. Imagine what all he could do if he learned to control the things that happened around him. People would call him a miracle worker, not a freak.

And it wasn't like Vernon and Petunia Dursley were truly normal, to begin with. Not his Aunt with her horse-like face and freakishly long neck and obsession with what the neighbors were doing. Not with the way she would secretly smoke cigarettes in the laundry room, that she thought no one knew about. Not with how she would eye the teenage boys that would often come to mow her lawn because Vernon was too lazy to do so himself. And not his Uncle, with his absurdly large body and meaty fists that were prone to hitting walls and tables and sometimes even Harry himself. Not with his disturbing movie collection that featured girls that were surely too young to be doing such acts. Not with how he would brag about himself to anyone who would listen, regardless if they cared or not. Not Dudley, with his spoiled tendencies and bullying. Not with how he would chase people down to spit on them, or try to lift the older girls dresses when they passed by. No, they weren't normal at all.

So when a man who was easily eight foot tall bashed through the door of the shack and offered to take him to another world. One hidden from his Aunt and Uncle and cousin, one in which he could learn how to master the magic inside him, he leaped for the opportunity. Anything to get away from the awful people he had been left with as a baby. Anything to get his revenge. Staring at the faces of his relatives, he made a promise to himself that one day they would pay for all they had done to him. One day they would admire his greatness and bow before him, just before he killed them.

Hagrid had left him inside Ollivander's wand shop, while he ran a few errands for the Headmaster, Professor Dumbledore. Looking around the dusty and slightly dirty shop he wondered if this was all just a dream. Magic was real, and it was spectacular. And now, he was about to get a wand. Something that before now, he believed to be just a story. An older man with white hair sticking up at odd angles and crows feet around his eyes stepped off a ladder and smiled at him.

"I've been expecting you, Mr. Potter." He told him. Harry swallowed nervously and shifted from foot to foot, "You have, sir?"

The man nodded. "Yes indeed. You know, you have your mother's eyes?" He asked, leaning over the counter to peer closely at Harry. Harry felt a jolt of surprise. This man knew his mother. He had met her, and he felt anger well up inside him at the injustice. These people knew his mother, they knew about her, had met her and seen her, and yet he could not remember her face. He had no clue what either of his parent's looked like, all because a man named Voldemort had attacked them one night. And because his Aunt and Uncle refused to speak of them, claiming they were lazy drunks killed in a car crash.

"What was she like?" Harry questioned eagerly. He wanted to know something about his mother, anything to help him feel a connection to her. The man's eyes dropped in obvious sadness, "My dear boy, you mean to tell me no one has told you anything?" Harry shook his head, and the man let out a sigh, "Your mother was incredibly intelligent. She was brave and clever, quick with a wand and an excellent study in charms and potions. She was Head Girl at Hogwarts, and your father was Head Boy. Why I remember watching him chase her through the Alley declaring his love for her and begging for a date. She never paid him any mind of course, not until their Seventh Year, when he finally matured enough for her. After that, they were always together. Such tragedy that they died so young." Ollivander told him, smiling wistfully at days gone by.

Harry smiled as well, his parents had been happy together, and that was enough for now. Mr. Ollivanderr shook his head and smiled, "Enough of that for now, what's say we get you a wand, eh?" Harry smiled brightly and nodded, eager to get his hands on a wand that would belong to him. Mr. Ollivander set about taking his measurements and asking him questions. Harry stood still and answered all of them with a smile on his face. When it came time for Mr. Ollivander to present him with wands though, the smile began to wane. Wand after wand he tried and none of them fit just right. He had even tried a wand that matched the core of the one that had given him his scar, only to be irritated while holding it. Ollivander sighed and stroked his chin for a moment.

"I suppose it couldn't hurt to try," He murmured walking to the far recesses of his shop only to return with an intricate looking wandbox. It was a dark green and had gold filigree embossed upon the sides, a single emerald glittered atop it. Harry felt his heart begin to race in anticipation, _please let this be the one_ he thought. Mr. Ollivander placed the wand before him, and Harry eagerly grabbed it, paying no mind to the box that held it. Pure power rushed over him in waves and for the first time in his life, he felt at peace. He felt true happiness holding this wand, feeling the power inside it meld with his own. Closing his eyes he enjoyed the moment, before opening them and staring at Mr. Ollivander. "This one," he breathed, "This is the one."

Mr. Ollivander nodded with a smile, "Yes it is, Mr. Potter. Aspen with Dragon Heartstring core. Eleven inches. Slightly yielding. An excellent wand for charms and dueling." Harry smiled back, feeling a connection with his mother through this wand, she was great at Charms, and so would he be. He would endeavor to excel in everything that she did. And one day, he would avenge her death, especially if what Hagrid said was true and Voldemort wasn't truly dead. Ollivander watched the boy leave with a smile on his face, that one would be a leader, of that there was no doubt.

Hermione Granger was an intelligent young lady. Her parents told her all the time, although they worried about the books she tended to prefer to read. They also worried that she didn't socialize with the children her age. That she would rather talk politics with adults than Barbie dolls with girls her age. That she would rather know how a car worked than to play with the toy versions. That she was fond of balancing chemical equations at nearly eleven years old instead of just getting the hang of her multiplication and division problems. All of these things were of concern to her parents, but nothing was more concerning than what she could make happen. When angry she could shatter windows and glasses. When happy she could make her books float across the room to her. When sad she could cause water mains to burst and flood the house.

It terrified her parents. They had even called several priests to try and exorcise her, believing her to be possessed by demons, and no amount of begging and pleading could stop them. So she learned to be discreet. She learned to control her emotions tightly, how to appear as if everything was perfectly fine. As if the so-called demons had fled after the sixth or were it the eighth exorcism. As if she were a perfectly normal little girl, who just happened to be frighteningly intelligent.

It was enough to fool her parents. Enough to keep the priests away. But in the secret of her room, she would will her books to her. After all, she had read Matilda. She knew it was simply telekinesis that allowed her to do such intriguing things. Of course, her parents didn't believe in such things. Too wrapped up in the religious worlds that they had grown up in, instead of the scientific one she preferred. It was such a shame that such brilliant minds were wasted with their limitations. As if God was the only answer to what she was capable of.

So it came as quite the shock when her theories about being telekinetic were incorrect. Instead, she was a witch. That was worse to her parents. As far as they knew, witches were evil harmful beings who did the Devil's handiwork. They were frightened of her after that, afraid of what she could do now more so than ever. It hurt her badly, but she didn't let it show. She never let anything show anymore. Emotions were weakness and reserved for only those who deserved them. And her parents did not deserve to see her pain. So she strengthened her spine, resolute to never allow anything to punch through her armor, no matter how hard it may try. She would never allow her parents to know how much their fear and rejection hurt her. Instead, she would use her magic to cure the diseases that the Muggles couldn't. She would figure out how to end wars using magic, how to create homes for the homeless and food for the hungry. Oh, she was certain that even magic had laws and rules, but they were meant to be broken. And break them she shall.

So when Hermione appeared in Ollivander's wand shop to purchase the most vital part of her future education, it did not surprise her at all when a wand box in the very back of the dusty old shop began to shake.

Raising her brow at the older man before her she smirked, "I assume that means that one belongs to me?"

Mr. Ollivander eyed her appraisingly before nodding in agreement, "Indeed it does Miss.."

"Granger. Hermione Granger." She supplied when she realized he was asking her name.

"Indeed it does Miss Granger. A very special wand that one. Are you sure you can handle it?" Ollivander asked, meeting her eyes over the counter. Hermione pursed her lips but nodded. She could handle anything.

"Well then, let's get to it." He smiled, making his way to the box that was nearly vibrating with energy. She could feel the energy pouring off of it. It was rich and thick like dark chocolate, sweeping over her in a way that made her want to melt into the magic. It was raw and powerful and full of sickly sweet promises. She could almost hear the magic whispering to her, telling her all the great things she would do. Telling her how it could help her in a way that no one else ever could.

"This wand is Acacia, one of the few my family has ever made. It houses a dragon heartstring core. Eleven and a third inch long. Very, very rigid." Ollivander tells her, passing over an ornate box made of a violet colored wood. Sparkling jewels littered the top, and she barely pays them any attention. Instead focused on the instrument inside. Her wand. Lifting the lid so slowly she feels her own breath hitch in anticipation. It's beautiful, and as she picks it up she feels a power unlike any other flow through her veins reacting with the magic that resides there. This wand will do perfectly for her future plans.

Ollivander eyed the young witch for a moment. Finding it strange that such a fickle wand would belong to a seemingly innocent girl. That had been the main propensity of why his family had never been able to sell the wand. It refused any who touched it, often times sending nasty shocks to those it didn't believe worthy to wield it. And that it was the third ancient wand he'd sold this week made him think that change was just over the horizon. Change he wasn't sure the world was ready for, not with the likes of Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley and Harry Potter being at the helm.

The first of September rolled around and found three different and yet similar students boarding the Hogwarts Express. They were each nervous, and yet they covered it with an air of indifference. They were used to being ignored, or beaten down, or underestimated. And they always managed to overcome any obstacles placed before them. Time and time again they had beaten the things that had tried to beat them and they would continue to do so. There was nothing at one measly school that could break any of them. And this is where their story begins.

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 **A/N: So, I hope you like the story so far. As I said before, this story will be dark. It is not going to be light and fluffy and full of rainbows and happiness. It's going to be gritty, and painful, and angst filled. There might be some bright spots, but it will take a while to get there. I am going to try and stay as close to canon as I can, with quite a few changes character wise. Thanks as always to my Amazng Beta Vino Amore for everything you do. Please review and let me know what you think. Til next time, Lilbit903.**


	2. Chapter 2

_**"The thing about choices is that they're just illusions. We're all victims of Fate."**_

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Harry Potter sat alone in a compartment aboard the Hogwarts Express. He was rather nervous to attend the famous school. He had heard about what he had supposedly done. Defeating a Dark Lord at only fifteen months old set the standard pretty high with what he was expected to do. This world he found himself in already thought he had performed a great deed, and they would expect more as he grew older. Clenching his fist around his wand, he smiled. He would do many great things, he would make his mother proud. It was the least he could do for the woman who had given her life to protect his.

He was interrupted from his line of thought by the sound of the compartment door sliding open. A rather gangly redheaded boy, his hair was rather long and floppy hiding the exact color of his eyes, but if he had to guess they were probably blue, stood in the doorway. "Mind if I join you? Everywhere else is full." He asked looking both sheepish and put out.

Harry nodded and motioned to the bench across from him. The boy sent him a relieved smile and eagerly sat, after hefting his trunk into the compartment. Although he was tall by an eleven year old's standards, he was still too short to heft the heavy trunk onto the racks above their heads. He leaned back against the seat, and Harry thought that would be the end of it before with a gasp he leaned forward with his hand outstretched.

"My name's Ronald Weasley, by the way. But you can call me Ron." Ron told him, smiling brightly. At this close angle, he could tell that he was correct in the assumption that Ron's eyes were in fact blue. Harry grasped the outstretched hand and shook it once before releasing it, unused to positive physical touch. "I'm Harry. Potter. Harry Potter." Harry rambled for a moment before cutting himself off.

Ron stared at him, mouth agape before, "No bloody way!" poured out of his mouth in a shocked tone. Harry felt a blush rise to his cheeks at Ron's response and nodded. Ron leaned back and breathed out a "Wicked."

They sat in silence for a few moments until the Trolley Lady came through, "Anything from the trolley dears?"

Ron held up a saran-wrapped sandwich with a grimace, "I'm good thanks."

Harry felt a pang of pity for the boy across from him, he knew poverty when he saw it. feeling the heavy weight of his recently acquired gold in his pocket he stood, crossing the small compartment and held out his sack of galleons, "We'll take two of everything."

The trolley lady smiled brightly, counting out the galleons and handing over the sweets. Harry loaded all of the treats onto the bench. Ron eyed them enviously and Harry sent him a smile, "Well, what are you waiting for? I couldn't possibly eat all of this myself." Ron sent him a grateful smile and leaned over to pick at the sweets.

The rest of the train ride was spent joking and laughing, getting to know one another. At one point Harry had asked what it was like to grow up in a magical household, to which Ron had responded, "Loud. At least with six other siblings."

The talk had then led to Hogwarts and the Houses that students were sorted into. "Well, there's Gryffindor, Slytherin, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw." Ron had told him while chewing on a Pumpkin Pastry. Harry had nodded, "Well, which do you think you'll get sorted into?"

Ron let out a huff of air, "Gryfinndor, probably. It's where my entire family has gone." Harry noted the sound of disappointment in Ron's voice. "But that's not where you want to go is it?" Harry asked tentatively.

Ron shook his head sadly, "No. No, I think I'm much better suited for another House. But my family might disown me if I were sorted there." Harry frowned, but let the subject drop for now.

Ron suddenly smiled when a large gray rat crawled out of his pocket to find it's way into a partially empty box of Bertie Botts Every Flavor Beans. Harry stared at the rather mangy looking thing with disgust. He didn't like rats, but he didn't want to offend his new friend so he kept quiet. "This here's Scabbers. He was my brother Percy's, doesn't do much, but he seems to live a long time."

Harry hemmed and opened a chocolate frog, only to be surprised when it jumped away. He watched it hop onto the window before making its escape. Ron let out a laugh, before smiling in Harry's direction, "Tough luck that. Well, no matter. What card did you get?"

Harry sent Ron a confused look before noticing the small pentagon shaped card lying in the bottom of the container. A smiling man stared back at him over half-moon spectacles and Harry couldn't help but think that the twinkle in his eyes was a bit unnerving. Reading the Card he sighed, "Albus Dumbledore; Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." Putting the card away, for now, he and Ron resumed chatting about Hogwarts and what they thought might be in store for them.

It was later that they came to discuss the spells that they might get to learn of. Harry told Ron that he himself was particularly interested in Charms. To which Ron had eagerly replied that he knew of one that his brother's had taught him to change the colors of Scabbers. Just as Ron was clearing his throat to perform the incantation, the compartment door slid open and a girl with wild bushy hair popped inside.

"Have either of you seen a toad? A boy named Neville has lost his, and I agreed to help him find it so he would stop sniveling." She asked, rather primly. Before either boy could reply in the negative, the girl noticed that Ron had his wand out and poised above Scabbers. "Doing a bit of Magic, are you? Well, go on then. Let's see it." She demanded, sitting next to Harry and crossing her ankles daintily and staring at Ron expectantly. Ron's ears tinged pink and he cleared his throat a few times before violently swishing his wand over Scabbers and enunciating, "Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow, turn this stupid fat rat yellow!" The result was rather anticlimactic, seeing as it simply shot yellowish sparks out towards the rat causing it to let out a surprised squeak.

The girl raised an eyebrow, "Well now, where did you learn that spell?"

Ron blushed to the roots of his hair, "My brothers swore it would work." he mumbled scratching his ear nervously.

The girl sniffed, "Some brothers they are. Here, let me show you a real spell." With that, she turned to face Harry and raised her wand directly in his face. Harry gulped, unsure of what she was planning to do. With a swish and twirl of her wand, she called, "Oculus Reparo." Causing the crack in Harry's glasses to mend. Harry let out a gasp of surprise and pulled his glasses off to examine them, amazed that she had been able to fix them so thoroughly for him. "Thanks, uh. I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch your name."

"Oh goodness me, how rude of me. I'm Hermione Granger. And you are?" Hermione replied, sending both boys apologetic looks. Harry got the feeling she wasn't used to interacting with people her age. Ron held out his hand, that was unfortunately still sticky from their earlier sweets. "Ronald Weasley, but you can call me Ron. Hey, could you show us how to do that spell?" He asked, grimacing and pulling his hand back hastily when he noticed just how sticky it was.

Hermione sent him a smile and nodded. Harry sent them both a grin, "I'm Harry Potter." he told Hermione, quietly relishing the way her eyes grew wide at hearing his name. "Blimey! You're _the_ Harry Potter! Why I've read all about you in Most Recent Wizards in History. You defeated Lord Voldemort." Hermione gushed, leaning closer. Harry sent her a smile, silently pleased that people thought enough about him to write him into history books. Of course, no one truly knew what happened that night, it was all just speculation, but being known for defeating a Dark Wizard as a mere baby was bound to have perks.

Before he could respond the train let out three long sharp whistles causing Hermione to stand. "That'll be the warning whistles. You two ought to get dressed in your robes. We're nearly there." And with that, she flounced out of the compartment.

As the train pulled into a little village called Hogsmeade, Harry found himself taking in what sights he could see in the rapidly darkening village. A group of adults were chatting excitedly around the doors of a place called the Three Broomsticks. A goat could be heard bleating through the small crowd, and Harry looked around trying to spot it before the lumbering giant of a man Hagrid appeared. "Alrigh' firs' years this way! Come on now! This way" Hagrid boomed, his voice catching the attention of all the first years. The older students would pass him by, smiling and waving occasionally before continuing on their way. Harry stepped close to Hagrid and gave him a shy smile, one Hagrid returned brightly. "Alrigh' there Harry?"

Harry nodded and followed the flow of the other first years to the boat docks. He found himself in a boat with Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger and a blonde haired boy with pointy features. They sat quietly, watching as another boy fumbled his way into the boats, almost tipping it over, while another leaned close to the water, only to be pulled back by one of Hagrid's beefy fists. Hagrid stood in the largest boat, glancing over the crowd of nervous first years before nodding and tapping his umbrella against the boat, causing all of them to move forward. The lakes stillness was only broken by the rippling of the boats moving through the water. Harry glanced up taking in the stars. He'd never seen them so clearly before. At the sudden gasps around him, he turned his attention to him. Looming above them was an enormous castle, it's windows lighting the way. Harry thought he'd never seen anything as beautiful in all his life.

Before long they were approaching the steps of the castle met by a woman with stern features. Her dark hair was pulled back in a severe bun, and her lips were pursed in apparent displeasure. Harry listened half-heartedly to her speech, focusing instead on the faces of those around him. Many of them seemed nervous, the only one who didn't seem to be was the blonde boy he had shared a boat with. Soon the woman who had introduced herself as Professor McGonnagall turned and walked through the doors behind her, leaving the first years to speculate as to what the sorting might be. Harry was certain it wouldn't be anything as drastic as wrestling a troll, but it was still enough to cause him to wonder himself. The blonde boy leaned over and whispered, "It's a hat. An old bloody hat that sits on your head and tells you where you belong." Harry turned to look at the boy in confusion. A hat? Could it really be that simple? The blonde boy moved to stand before him. "Forgive my rudeness. My name's Malfoy. Draco Malfoy." He introduced himself with his hand out. Harry eyed it speculatively for a moment before grasping it firmly and giving it a shake. Draco beamed at him, "I have a feeling you and I will get along just fine Potter."

At that moment Professor McGonnagall called them through the doors, and they followed obediently. Harry took in the sight of the great hall. Four long tables were spread out vertically, with benches on either side of each. Candles floated above the tables, but magically, none of the wax made its way onto the students sitting there. The ceiling itself was an exact replica of the night sky, and Harry looked on in awe. Magic was brilliant, and he hated the Dursley's a little more for keeping it from him. He watched as the Sorting Ceremony began, surprised when Hermione was the first called forward.

Hermione straightened her spine and walked towards Professor McGonnagal confidently. She refused to show these people the fear and nervousness that was roiling in her gut. The elder witch raised her brows and motioned for Hermione to sit on the rickety stool so she could place the pointed hat atop her head. Hermione stared out at the hall defiantly, daring someone to say that she didn't belong here. Meeting the eyes of Harry she nodded once and waited for the hat to place her into her House.

"Ah, aren't you an ambitious one. Oh, and clever too. Plenty of book smarts in here. A great deal of logical thinking, but there's cunning too. Where to put you..." Hermione heard in her head, surprised by the thoughts that were not her own. Resisting the urge to jump up and throw the hat from her head, she sat perfectly still, listening to the voice ramble.

"Hmmm, you wouldn't be the first Muggle-born to go to Slytherin. You could change things. Remind them that Salazar hating muggles, not muggle borns. You would do well there." The hat whispered in her mind, and Hermione felt her lips twitch. 'Then put me there,' she thought back, unafraid of the challenge. She had no doubt that she could have those in Slytherin House wrapped around her finger eventually. It would take time, but she had bounds of patience.

"Very well then, better be Slytherin!" The hat shouted surprising everyone in the room. Polite applause filled the room, and Hermione removed the hat from her head and walked primly down to the Slytherin table, a smirk gracing her lips.

Harry watched the proceedings with a smile. If Hermione made it into Slytherin, it must not be all bad, regardless of what Hagrid had said. Harry waited patiently for his turn, surprised when Draco Malfoy didn't even need the hat to touch his head before it called out Slytherin. Next was a boy named Neville Longbottom who was sorted into Gryffindor. Followed by Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas who both went to Gryfinndor. Hannah Abbot went to Hufflepuff, as did Susan Bones. Terry Boot and Ernie MacMillan went to Ravenclaw. Finally, the only other person he knew was called forward.

Ronald Weasley had long since turned green. He knew where he wanted to go, and where he was expected to go. Depending on which the hat chose, he could face difficulties either way. Sure being placed in Gryffindor would be easier amongst his family, but he would forever struggle to move out of his brother's shadows. But if he were placed in Slytherin, he could finally, finally make a name for himself. The first Weasley to be sorted into Slytherin, he would able to form connections. Move up in the world in a way that his brothers never would. All of these thoughts ran rampant in his head, as Professor McGonagall placed the hat upon his head.

"Oh, ho ho, what do we have here. A Weasley. Oh yes, I can see your family ties trying to pull you towards Gryffindor. But that's not where you desire to be, is it? No. You have much higher aspirations. And the right kind of mind to achieve it. I know just where to Put you." The hat whispered in Ron's mind, causing the boy's hands to tremble slightly.

"Slytherin!" The hat called, causing Ron to jolt in surprise. Slytherin. He was a Slytherin. The rest of the Hall looked on in silence, a small cough and suddenly the Slytherin's began applauding. Ron stood and walked to the Slytherin table on trembling knees, worried that his family might never speak to him again, but recognizing that might not be a terrible thing.

Harry sent Ron, Hermione, and Draco a wink as they sat at the Slytherin table. He watched as a girl named Tracy Davis was sent to Gryfinndor in near tears. As were two other girls, one Lavender Brown and one Parvarti Patil. Finally, it was Harry's turn. Drawing a deep breath he made his way up to the old worn hat and sat underneath it.

"Ah, Mr. Potter. You're what all the fuss is about. Hmm, you're a clever one, there's no doubt. Ambitious too. Ruthless as well, but loyal. It seems you belong in the same house as the man who gave you your scar." The hat murmured, Harry frowned, 'well, if what I've been told is true, I'll need to know everything he did when he returns.'

The hat sent an echo of a chuckle through Harry's mind, "The world isn't prepared for you, Mr. Potter."

"Slytherin!" The hat called loudly, stilling the room. Suddenly the Slytherin table went wild, loud hoots and cheers, as well as stomping, came from his new House table. Harry smiled, it felt good to be desired. To be wanted.

Taking the hat off and handing it politely to Professor McGonagall, he sauntered his way towards his new table. He sat next to Hermione and Ron and across from Draco. Elder Slytherin's were all sending him smiles and welcomes. Harry sent them all smiles of his own. Turning to face the Head Table, he noticed that the Headmaster didn't seem too pleased by this development.

Harry snorted, that's what the old man gets for leaving a baby on a doorstep. Turning to his new housemates, he waited for the sorting to be over, and studiously ignored the Headmaster's ridiculous speech. Soon, the food was flowing over the table as was the conversation. For the first time in a long time Harry felt at home, he felt at peace surrounded by people who wanted him. People who wouldn't just shove him in a cupboard under the stairs and forget about him. No one would ever forget about him again.

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 **A/N: First off, thanks to my lovely Beta Vino Amore. Secondly, I want to apologize for the long wait for this update. Real life popped up with the excitement of the Holiday's so I'm behind a week on all of my stories. But I plan to get to work on them later today. Reviews are always welcome. Til next time, Lilbit903.**


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